Stubborn Love
by ReginaEmma
Summary: Santana starts taking ballet classes at the age of 8. There she meets someone very special. Brittany/Santana, Santana/Brittany, Brittana.


I.

You've been living in Lima, Ohio for barely two weeks. You don't get out of your house, you don't have any friends really. School doesn't start for another week, and your mom and dad are as busy as ever, if not more, since you moved from Columbus. It wasn't a big move, it's just your dad was finally able to open a practice and it was easier and cheaper to do so in Lima. Or at least that's what you've been told. The details don't really concern you. You just miss your friends back home. You're lonely and bored, and your mom notices that.

Before third grade starts, your mom has already signed you up for all different kinds of extracurricular activities. You'll have piano class on Mondays, karate on Wednesdays and ballet on Thursdays.

You used to have piano class back home, and some of your friends had karate so they'd shown you some moves during recess at school, but you've never been to any ballet class or seen anyone do ballet. You're nervous and a bit scared too. There's so many new things in your life and you're a little overwhelmed by all of it, but come Thursday evening, your mom drops you off at The Arts Center School of Music and Dance and you don't complain.

There's a nice lady at the reception that points you to a staircase that leads to the second floor, and you tighten your grip on your mom's arm. You feel your nerves coil in your stomach as you walk up the stairs, and you're able to listen to the soft noises of people talking down the small hallway on the second floor.

When you get to the end of the hallway, there's a big blue door that says "Kids' Ballet Class" and your mom opens it for you and you let yourselves in.

There's already a bunch of mothers with their kids, talking to each other and laughing loudly, like they've known each other for years, and you realize they must. You're gonna be the new girl that no one wants to be friends with and your grip on your mom's arm tightens even more. You take a step back and hide your face under your mom's arm. She just turns around and giggles at you but before she has the chance to say anything you hear someone approach you and say, "Hello, you must be Mrs. Lopez and this one over here must be Santana, am I right?"

You slowly lift your head and you're greeted with one of the warmest smiles ever directed at you. You suppose this tall, blonde woman is going to be your ballet teacher and your nerves ease at the thought. She seems nice and her smile is so bright and her blue eyes shine with the reflections of the lights in the room and you feel yourself blush because she's so _pretty_.

You can't get yourself to speak so your mom laughs nonchalantly and replies, "Yes, this is Santana and I'm pretty sure she's able to tell you that herself, aren't you, mija?" And she's looking at you expectantly but you're only able to mutter a meek, "Yes."

Your supposed-to-be ballet teacher doesn't seem to be too bothered with it and instead extends you a hand and offers you another one of her warm smiles, "Well I'm Mrs. Pierce, but you can call me Susan. As you probably already guessed, I'm going to be your ballet teacher so don't be shy, sweetheart." She gestures with her hand for you to take it, and you do. "Come on, class is about to start. Let me introduce you to your new friends."

After your mom leaves you with a kiss on the forehead and a whispered "Good luck, mi amor", Mrs. Pierce drags you to the middle of the room, where there's only the kids left, already sitting on the floor, waiting for their teacher.

"Class, this is your new classmate, Santana Lopez."

The weeks pass by and you're doing pretty well in your piano class, and karate is actually fun, if only because sometimes you get to _accidentally_ kick the annoying kid with the mohawk, Noah Puckerman. School starts and everyone notices there's a new girl at school, but no one really talks to you. You spend most of the time on your own, and you don't mind it that much. You just hide your brother's Gameboy in your jacket's pocket and play Pokémon on it, even if it means he'll get mad at you in the evening when he wants to play and there's no battery left. Sometimes you'll bring your old coloring book and hide in the bathroom until recess is over because there's no noise there. You like the quiet.

What you like the most is Thursday evenings. You never thought you'd end up loving ballet class this much, but you do. You spend the entire week waiting for Thursdays and on the weekends, you clear up your room so you can practice in front of the small mirror in front of your bed. You wish you could have ballet class every day.

Mrs. Pierce is the nicest teacher you ever had and she always takes time to help you when you have a hard time with your _fouetté_. You don't really talk to anyone in your ballet class either, but you're always too focused to even care about that. When you're doing your _arabasque _or your _écarté_, you're no longer in the room, you close your eyes and you let the soft tones of the music in the background take you somewhere far away. You feel weightless, spinning and cutting through the air, your arms and legs stretching and bending like they never did before, and at first it was hard and it hurt a bit, but now when you hold your leg straight in the air or you bend it behind your back, you feel calm and you like the feeling that settles all over your body.

Nothing ever really changes until one Thursday evening your mom's not there waiting for you with a smile and a warm hug when ballet class is over.

Mrs. Pierce is doing her usual round, going around the class talking to parents who want to know how their kids are doing, smiling her big shiny smile that you like so much, and saying goodbye to her students, hugging them and ruffling their hairs.

You're usually gone by now, your mom always on time to pick you up, asking you if you had a good time and giving you your favorite Tropical Blast flavored Capri Sun. Tonight you're leaning against one of the barres, staring down at your feet, anxiously looking up every time you hear the door open, only to see it's not your mom coming through it.

There's footsteps coming your way and when you look up you see a tall blonde, but it's not the tall blonde you'd usually expect to see. When you think about it, you think you've seen this girl at school, maybe once or twice, during recess perhaps? You'd like to think that if she were in your class you'd have noticed her pretty blue eyes and her big smile, but you barely pay any attention to your classmates, choosing instead to sit in the back row where you know you'll draw no attention at all.

"What are you doing?" the blonde girl asks. You're just staring at her, because you two never talked before, in fact, if you'd been asked about it, you wouldn't be able to tell she was in your ballet class; her easygoing attitude and warm smile make it seem like you've been friends for years.

"I'm waiting for my mom to come pick me up," you reply nonchanlantly.

"Well, why is she taking so long then? Everyone's gone." You're sure she's not making it on purpose, but you feel worse at the thought that maybe, most probably, your mom had forgotten to pick you up. It's okay, you know how busy your parents are but you can't help but feel forlorn. Once again you were put in second place to whatever plans your mom has, and even this strange girl could see it. It makes you more angry and less sad.

You weren't sure what to reply, too embarrassed by the entire situation but thankfully Mrs. Pierce comes over and puts a hand on the girl's shoulder, "Brittany, sweetheart, what's going on?"

Brittany. That's the girl's name. You think it fits her well.

"Santana's mom is late to pick her up," Brittany says, looking up to Mrs. Pierce as if to ask her for help.

Mrs. Pierce offers you a sympathetic smile. It's probably not the first time this has happened to one of her students, but it's still embarrassing for you to be one of them.

"Do you happen to know your mom's number, Santana?" You shake your head. You were never that good with numbers. "Hm-hm. Well, you two just stay here for a few minutes while I go into the office look for Santana's file. Her mom's number is sure to be there," she says, offering a comforting smile. You think Mrs. Pierce is really good at making other people feel better. You smile back at her. "I'll be right back."

And with that you're left alone with the strange girl. _Brittany_, you think.

She looks like she's amused at something. The cheshire grin on her face is contagious, and you find yourself smiling back bashfully before hiding your face, letting your long, dark hair act as a curtain.

"My mom says you're really good. I've seen you dance — I think you're really good too." That's the first thing Brittany says to you once you're alone and you're confused: when has her mom ever watched you dance?

You lift your head up to look at Brittany and her eyes are the exact same shade of blue and her blonde hair shines the same under the bright lights of the room, and you wonder how you never noticed before that this girl was Mrs. Pierce's _daughter_. The resemblance is so obvious now but then again, you weren't even aware of this girl's existence until tonight.

You dare to ask, "Your mom... as in, Mrs. Pierce, right?"

"Of course, silly. Unless I have another mom I don't know about that you know about," the girl rambles, almost absentmindedly, "It would be so cool if I had two moms though, don't you think?"

You're a little taken aback by the idea, but you don't see anything wrong with it. You imagine if you had a mom like Mrs. Pierce you'd want two of them too.

"Hmm, I suppose so," you mumble. The girl's smile is back on at full force, and you can't help but think she's really pretty, just like you thought the same about Mrs. Pierce on your first day; except this time you can't stop looking, though the moment she looks back you look away immediately.

You stand there, her smiling at you and you trying to pretend you're not smiling back and there's a warm feeling settling in your stomach, not like those nerves you felt before walking in this room for the first time; it's pleasant and it makes you want to get closer to Brittany but you don't.

It's during one of those times when you're looking down at your feet to avoid looking at her that she takes your hand. Your hand feels sweaty and clammy on hers but her long fingers grasp yours in a tight grip and she drags you to the center of the room. "Let's dance."

She spins you around and she wraps her arm around your waist as she grabs your left hand with her right one, and at first you're stiff, not really sure of what are you supposed to be dancing. It isn't ballet, but you're not sure what it is either; you're just dancing to this silent song, and you let go because it feels good, it's fun and soon you're both laughing boisterously, like there's no worries in the world to be had. And there's not. Not for the two of you, not at this moment. It's better than doing _pliés_ all alone in your room, better than practicing your _pointé _work every Thursday in Mrs. Pierce's class, and you just want to dance with Brittany everyday.

You forgot all about your mom until Mrs. Pierce shows up, effectively interrupting your dance and you and Brittany put some distance between yourselves. For the first time since you first met, you're too shy to look at Mrs. Pierce so you look down at your feet, your usual avoidance tactic. That doesn't stop Mrs. Pierce from crouching down in front of you and putting a reassuring hand on your shoulder before letting you know your mom's on her way now. Apparently she got held up at some meeting at work. You don't say anything.

"Baby girl, go pick up your stuff, we can wait outside with Santana until her mom arrives."

You stay put but your eyes move around the room, first watching as Brittany moves to the corner where everyone usually leaves their backpacks, and takes out something out of her backpack, but she's too quick to stuff it inside the pocket of her jacket for you to see what it was. Then, she goes to where Mrs. Pierce is putting away the CDs alongside the stereo that plays the most wonderful sounds, or at least you think they are. You love to listen to how the piano can go from these powerful lows that give you strength to spin faster, to these really soft almost playful highs that make you jump just a little higher.

You watch as Brittany takes something out of her jacket pocket and you wonder if it's the same thing she took out of the backpack, but you still can't see what it is. It's laying in her palm and she's showing it to her mom. Brittany's looking eagerly at her mom, probably asking her for something and her mom just laughs before kissing her forehead. You feel sad for a second but you don't have much time to dwell on it because Mrs. Pierce says something to Brittany before they're both heading your way.

"Let's go then. Your mom should be here any minute now."

The three of you stand outside for what must've been five minutes — that felt longer to your (very) impatient self — before your mom arrives, looking flustered and spewing apologies. You're actually reluctant to let go of Mrs. Pierce, who has her arms wrapped around yours and Brittany's shoulders, in an attempt to protect you from the night's chilly air.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't cause any inconveniences, Mrs. Pierce," your mom says as she grabs you by the arm and holds you tight against her. You wrap your arms around her but you turn your head to look at Brittany, who's staring back at you with a blank expression and you already miss her smile.

"Of course not, it was no problem at all," Mrs. Pierce offers reassuringly. "It happens to all of us."

"Anyway, thank you so much for waiting with Santana. We'll be going now, it's already too late for a school day."

You watch forlornly as your mom and Mrs. Pierce exchange pleasantries and shake hands. Brittany's still not smiling at you and instead she looks fidgety, rocking back and forth on her heels, with her hands in her pockets and her gaze set on the floor.

"Santana, mija, say goodbye and thank you to Mrs. Pierce." You take your eyes off Brittany to say a rushed thank you and see you next Thursday, Mrs. Pierce, before you dejectedly turn around to walk to your mom's car.

You're about to get in the car when you feel a hand wrap around your wrist and, "Hey."

Brittany's standing there with a coy smile and a blush tinting the tip of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. "I wanted to give you this."

On the palm of her hand you finally see what you assume is what she was showing her mom before. It's a charm bracelet but there's only one charm on it. You resist taking it to get a closer look but you're still able to see that the charm is a ballerina, in her pink tutu doing a _plié_.

"For me?" you whisper as you finally move to take it. When your hand touches Brittany's, you feel the corners of your mouth move involuntarily, like you can't help but smile when it comes to Brittany. You're okay with that, you think.

"Of course, silly. Friends give things to each other all the time."

_Friends_. You smile wider at that. You don't know what it is about this girl that makes you sure that you're going to become really good friends but you just know this. Just like you knew you loved ballet right after your first class. In a way, Brittany and ballet are very similar in the way the came into your life: it was immediate, it was sudden and it quickly took over all of your senses. You think it's even better because the two of them do sort of come together in the same package, and you feel giddy at the thought of Thursday evenings. Not only do they mean there's ballet class but it also means you get to see Brittany now too.

Tonight's been a night of firsts for you. It's the first time your mom's forgotten to pick you up after ballet class. It's the first time you talked to someone from your ballet class. It's the first time you've met Brittany. It's the first time you've made a friend since you moved to Lima.

Somehow with Brittany smiling at you while she puts the bracelet around your wrist, you feel tonight is just the first of many more you're going to share with Brittany. And you already want to.

"Thank you. I promise, I'll never take it off."

You want this bracelet to be as present and everlasting as your friendship.

II.

"I'm quiting ballet class."

Brittany looks over at you as if you had grown a second head but you just shrug your shoulders. "We're starting freshman year next week and I need to move to on to bigger and better things."

"'Better things'? But I thought you loved ballet."

You're sitting in Brittany's backyard, doing what you've been doing for most of the summer: lying in an old blanket on the grass, under the hot summer sun, trying to get a tan while you read Seventeen's articles on "how to get yourself ready for Autumn fashion" and "how to make sure you're in the right clique".

The idea of quitting ballet class has been on your mind since Puckerman had sneaked you and Brittany both in a party of some junior year jock called Matt Casey. You watched as the cheerleaders, wearing their uniforms (which you thought it was weird because, why would they be wearing their uniforms in the middle of the summer holidays? You didn't ask anyone about it, anyway.) with everyone's eyes on them.

You, for your part, spent most of the party leaning against a wall in the far side of the living room, nursing a beer (you hate the taste of it, but you still took it when Puck gave it to you). Brittany had been a dutiful friend and had stayed with you but you could feel her getting bored so when Puck came to ask if one of you wanted to dance, you looked at her and said, "Go, I'll stay here."

Brittany and Puck managed to get in the middle of the crowded living room, between a mass of sweaty and horny teenagers, not really dancing but mostly just grinding against each other and making out. You watched as Brittany wrapped her arms around Puck's neck and he wrapped his around her waist. You watched as their hips moved together and you couldn't help but think how different Brittany looks when she's dancing outside your ballet class. How different she looks when she's dancing with _you_.

Sometimes you goof off during ballet class, Brittany grabbing your hand and lifting you up, then spinning you before finally putting you back on the floor before dramatically positioning both of you as if you're going to tango right there, in the middle of the studio. But then Mrs. Pierce's stern warning of, "Stop playing around and get to your exercises." has you both back to leaning against the barre, giggling as quietly as you can, because you know Mrs. Pierce isn't that mad; you can see her smile the same way she always has since you joined her class 7 years ago.

This Brittany dancing with Puck still dances without a care, still makes your heart flutter with the way she smiles not only with her mouth but with her eyes, but she makes something inside you burn and it makes you feel uncomfortable, how that feeling makes you wish it was you instead of _him_ getting to grind your hips against hers.

You remember last year.

Just another one of your frequent sleepovers. They're nothing too exciting really, just watching movies in Brittany's room, listening to music on your iPod speakers, or simply doing homework before you make a fort where you lay down and talk to each other in ushered whispers; not because you're hiding anything but because once you get in the fort, nothing's allowed to leave there. It's where you keep your secrets, just for you and Brittany to know.

It's where you keep the secret that scares you the most.

You tried to forget it, to let it go but sometimes, like when you watch Brittany dance in such a _sexy _way (a way you haven't learned yet; you still feel too awkward but you know you need to change that, and soon.) you're reminded of how it felt to have her on top of you, her hot breath mingling with yours making it so warm inside the fort, even though it was chilly cold outside, the Lima winter at its worst.

You tried to forget how it felt when Brittany had asked you if you had kissed someone yet, your reply stuttered back in a very meek tone, "N-no, _why_?". You tried even harder to forget how your heart raced when Brittany told you she hadn't kissed anyone yet, but she really wanted to try it with you.

You can't forget how her lips felt on yours, so sweet and soft, how you thought it would be something quick, just a simple peck but even in your uncertainty you could feel both of you wanting more so you cupped her neck and pulled her lips closer to yours again; you got lost for what felt like an endless moment, just brushing your lips against hers before kissing her harder again, but you know it couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, both of you short of breath when you broke apart.

You can't forget the look on Brittany's face, her eyes closed but her mouth still slightly open, her lips swollen and a little bit red and the sight was enough to make you blush before you rushed to get out from underneath Brittany's body. She fell on her back beside you and you had your eyes closed and your heart still racing when she said, "That was really good, San."

You only told her that it was a one time thing and she'd get to kiss _boys_ when they got to high school.

She just smiled before she started telling you about her aunt's labrador, who she loves a lot, but it kept running away from her every time she tried to pick it up. "I just wanted him to hug me... I was seven, how was I supposed to know?"

Remembering all of these things had only made you feel worse so you decided to move away from your spot against the wall to some place where Brittany and Puck weren't in your direct field of vision. You tried to get through the crowd but it seemed like you were invisible to most; they kept dancing, some of them even stepping on your toes or elbowing you. You felt trapped in a place you didn't belong.

When a cheerleader, with her blonde hair in a tight ponytail, arrived to the party (it's called being fashionable late, you read that on CosmoGirl) and she seemed to glide through the small crowded space of the living room as if there was no one there, you decided you wanted to be _that_ kind of person.

You wanted to be someone who everyone noticed when they walk inside a room. You didn't want to be shoved around. You wanted to belong, to feel in control of the way people see you and treat you.

That's why you need to quit ballet class and focus on other things. _Bigger things_.

"Yeah, Britt. I'm signing up for the Cheerios as soon as the school year starts," you tell her. "We have practice every afternoon, so I can't go to ballet anymore." That's not entirely true but you've heard about how ruthless their coach can be. You need to focus to be the best.

For her part, Brittany stays silent, still painting her toenails, each one of them in a different color. You'd think it'd look silly on anyone else, but the choice is so incredibly Brittany that looking at the bright yellow, green, pink, blue and purple just makes you smile.

"Have you told my mom yet?"

You hadn't thought about that part. You've spent the last seven years of your life in Mrs. Pierce's class, loving every second of it, trying your hardest to perfect every move, even though you'll never get to Brittany's level: she's a natural.

Would you have to explain why; why quit now? Would you tell the truth or come up with some lame excuse?

"No. But I plan on telling her soon, don't worry."

"Yeah."

"Will you join Cheerios with me?"

Brittany stops painting her toenails. She looks up at you, a frown set on her face and you want to reach over and run your fingers over it, to smooth the lines and take away any of her distress. "I don't know if I can, San."

You feel yourself choke up a little bit. You were almost sure Brittany would join the Cheerios with you. The thought of having to do this on your own, at a new school with people you don't know, without Brittany at your side, almost makes you want to give up on this whole idea.

"I'll think about it, okay?" You nod, and she smiles, not her usual bright eyes sparkling smile, just a small upturn of her lips, before she turns away to keep painting her toenails again.

You don't give up and on the first day of freshman year, you write your name on the sheet that says "Cheerios - fatties do not sign under the penalty of being sent to the Hunger Games". Two days later, when you show up for the tryouts, Brittany's already there, already talking to some girls who you think you've seen in some of the classes you share with Brittany.

You end up never telling Mrs. Pierce why you gave up ballet class. You ask your mom to call the studio, to tell you won't be going anymore. The next time you go to Brittany's for a sleepover, Mrs. Pierce doesn't ask about ballet, instead she congratulates you and Brittany both for getting into the Cheerios.

The guilt and regret only get bigger with every Thursday evening you return to your place after practice and you see Brittany's mom pick her up to take her to ballet class.

III.

It's been a regular thing since you got your license. Brittany gets out of ballet class at 9pm, so that gives you an hour after Cheerios practice to shower, change your clothes and go home have dinner before you grab the keys to your brand new Audi A3 (a birthday gift from your more than ever absent father) and drive over to downtown Lima to pick Brittany up.

Since Brittany turned 15 she's been taking a more advanced class, that starts later than the one Santana used to go to, and Brittany's mom doesn't teach that class, so she's no longer in the studio by the time Brittany gets out of her class.

You were having dinner at the Pierce's when the issue came up; Brittany's parents weren't comfortable with her being out alone when it's already dark outside, even though she kept reassuring them she'd be fine. So you offered to go pick her up after class.

At first, you'd just catch the bus back home together, but since you got your license you just drive there.

She's usually already waiting outside the studio for you but tonight she's not there. After waiting for 10 minutes inside your car, you decide to go inside to look for Brittany. Even though the studio is familiar to you, it's been a while since you've actually been here. Climbing the stairs that lead to the second floor brings a smile to your face, remembering when you used to run all the way up them in your haste to get to ballet class, to Brittany.

You're already able to hear the sounds of the piano as it plays on the far left side of the room where you still remember it being. Knocking softly as to not disturb, you let yourself inside. The sight that greets you makes you regret instantly ever giving up ballet class.

Brittany, clad in only her tights and leotard, her body lean and firm with a posture that only Brittany can pull off without it messing up her flow; she moves naturally, gracefully, you can barely distinguish her features as she twirls through the air with such precision, that once had made you jealous, but then you just gave into Brittany and the beauty in the way she moves.

She's halfway through a_ entrechat_, jumping in the air while she quickly crossing her legs before and behind each other (a move you never really perfected), before she lands on the floor only to spring into the air again to finish off with a _faille_, where she lands with her back foot raised on her toes.

The piano stops playing and you finally see Brittany's teacher. Then you notice Brittany is the only student left. Brittany's new teacher is nothing like Mrs. Pierce: an old lady, probably in her sixties, with greying hair in a tight bun on top of her head. She congratulates Brittany for her efforts and for a rather good execution of her steps and the proceeds to let her know she has someone waiting for her. The both of them turn to look at you and Brittany smiles wide before, "San, you're here!"

She runs to your side and grabs your hand, dragging you across the room to where her teacher is. "Mrs. Benard, this is my best friend in the whole world, Santana!"

The woman smiles kindly at you, amused by Brittany's excitement to introduce you both. She extends her hand and you take it, shaking your hands while letting her know it's a pleasure to meet her.

"Mrs. Benard, did you know that Santana used to do ballet too?"

You resist the urge to flinch at her words. You didn't think Brittany would actually bring it up and even though there's no real problem with Mrs. Benard knowing about your past, you really didn't want to answer any questions about it. Sometimes you rather hide things and pretend they never happened. Sometimes you feel like you'll always have to hide the important things to you and you're not even fully sure why, you just do.

"Oh really, dear? Why did you stop then?" Mrs. Benard asks you, not really trying to pry, but you can see her curiosity peak enough to not let you go without an answer.

"I have cheerleading practice now."

Nothing else is said and Mrs. Benard just hums in acknowledgment to your reply before turning to Brittany, reminding her to practice during the weekend and to wish her a nice week.

"Okay. I'm sure Lord Tubbs won't mind if I move his bed again to the bathtub while I practice," Brittany says before turning to you and looping her arm on yours.

"Goodbye, Santana. Stop by anytime if you ever want to practice a couple _pirouettes_," Mrs. Benard calls before you leave the room.

You don't say anything, you just nod before closing the door behind you.

There's a small locker room on the opposite side of the hallway where Brittany goes to freshen up and change her clothes. You wait outside the door for her, twirling your car keys on your index finger as you think about what Mrs. Benard said. You do miss ballet, but you just can't get back to it. Not only you're not sure what would everyone at school would say if they knew the resident head bitch in charge (well, second in charge, stupid Quinn Fabray had managed to get the title of captain of the squad) danced freaking ballet. And you have a plan. A plan to be successful in life and get out of here and not end up a Lima loser like Puckerman, and you can't let yourself get off track. Ballet would be a distraction. Friends are a distraction, so you don't do friends. You do acquaintances and one night stands that allow you to climb the social ladder easily and most of all, to stay on top of it. Sometimes, you think of Brittany as a distraction but you regret the thought almost immediately. There's little things you hold dear to her, and Brittany is one of them. Sometimes, you think Brittany is the only thing holding you together.

Brittany comes out of the locker room and she must've said something to you because the next thing you hear is a, "Are you okay, San?" and you realize you had been running your fingers through the charm bracelet Brittany gave you when you were eight, too lost in your thoughts to be aware of the world surrounding you.

"Yeah, sure. Let's go, I'm taking you out for dinner tonight." You hadn't even planned on it, but upon Brittany's excited squeal, you know you made the right choice.

You take her to a small diner just a little outside of town where you know you can have dinner without much hassle, and most of all, where no one who could possibly recognize you. It's not like it's a secret you and Brittany are best friends and hang out all the time; you just don't like people knowing about your business. Much less the gossip-y teenagers of McKinley High. When you're with Brittany, the world is only yours and hers, and you hate sharing Brittany with the world. You've never been good at it, it's like a kick in the gut when you go to Peter Stevens' parties and you have to watch her being dragged away by another brainless jock who just wants to spend the night grinding against her.

Brittany turns the volume up on the radio while she sings and dances on her seat to Beyoncé's 'Single Ladies', her burst of energy, even after an hour of dancing, a clear sign of her excitement. You haven't taken her out for dinner after ballet class in a while.

You get to the diner and settle in one of the booths at the far back. Brittany orders the usual: a cheeseburger ("make sure the cheese is really melting, pretty please") with a side of french fries and a strawberry milkshake. You order a simple salad and an Iced Tea; you're not willing to put any weight on and risking Coach demoting you to the bottom of the pyramid.

Brittany eats her dinner in relative silence. She basically devours her cheeseburger, leaving the french fries and the milkshake to the end; you know how much she likes to dip the fries into the shake. You just play around with your salad. You had dinner before you went to pick her up so you're not that hungry, having ordered something for you just because you know Brittany would've felt awkward if you just sat there watching her while she ate. You wouldn't mind. You're kinda doing that now.

You're pretty sure that someone eating isn't supposed to be adorable or cute or anything really; yet watching Brittany makes you feel warm and you can't help but smile.

Sometimes she looks up at you and catches you staring, making you blush, but you never look away. Perhaps, if you were at school or somewhere more crowded, but not here. In here you let yourself look back into Brittany's eyes and you let her see your bashful smile, the one you can't help because it just takes over you; you don't feel in control of yourself when you're with Brittany. You gave it all up to her the day she gave you her friendship and you never really wanted it back. You trust Brittany like you have never trusted no one else.

You laugh when you see that Brittany somehow managed to get some ketchup on her cheek, and you lean over the table to clean it off with your thumb. Brittany smiles kindly at you, whispering a "Thank you" while a faint blush sets on her cheeks, and with your hand still cupping her cheek, you whisper back a "You're welcome" before breaking the moment and returning to your seat in a haste.

Your stomach is burning with something and you feel almost uncomfortable in your seat. You avoid looking at Brittany again while she finishes her food and when she tells you she's done, you hastily look for the waitress to ask her for the check. You pay for it and leave a nice tip, leaving the diner but not without checking if Brittany has a jacket. It's cold outside and you worry.

Once you get in the car, you turn the heat up and Brittany gets in not much longer after you. The radio is on but the volume is so low that it's barely even noticeable. Neither you or Brittany say anything but when you stop a red light, already halfway to Brittany's house, she grabs your right hand, the one resting on the stick shift, and intertwines her fingers in yours, her warm palm resting perfectly on your cold one.

"Thank you for dinner, San."

You turn to look at her quickly. She's looking at you with a small hopeful smile, and you feel bad for almost storming out the diner and leaving her behind. "Of course. It's what best friends do."

"Yeah, it is."

The rest of the trip is spent in silence again but this time it feels less suffocating. Brittany doesn't let go of your hand either, and even when you have to let go to move the stick shift, she just grabs it again.

It's not even 10pm when you're already parked on Brittany's driveway. You turn off the engine of your car leaving you and Brittany in complete silence. Her neighborhood is a pretty calm one, so at this time of the night there's no one outside. You're just sitting there in the silence inside of your car, still holding hands, Brittany's thumb stroking your fingers, making your entire body shiver, even though it's warm inside the car thanks to the AC.

Brittany breaks the silence after a few minutes, "Thanks again."

You swear you have every intent of replying, you do. But you look up from where you're staring intently at your hands up to Brittany's face and she's just looking at you expectantly, and you just have to kiss her. You let go of the hand that was holding hers so you can cup it around her neck while the other grabs the dashboard tightly so you can lean forward, closer to Brittany. You crash your lips hungrily to hers, and she's surprised; she takes a moment before she kisses back, her eyes fluttering close and a small moan coming from deep inside her. Brittany wraps one of hands around your waist, and she tries to pull you closer but you have the stick shift between you. You try, "Britt..." but she doesn't let you finish before she's grabbing the back of your neck and pushing your lips to hers. She sucks your bottom lip and this time, you're the one moaning. Her tongue licks your lips, and you open your mouth; your tongues touch and you inhale deeply.

You never kissed her like this outside your fort during your sleepovers.

She sucks on your tongue and you move the hand that's still on her jaw to her hair, your fingers getting lost in blonde hair. She pulls back for a moment and you whine at the loss of her lips on yours, but you can still feel her hot breath on your face, her warmth radiating off her body to yours, and even with your eyes closed you can still feel how beautiful she is. She starts kissing you all your face, on the corner of your lips, on the shape of your round cheekbones, on your temple, on your closed eyelids, all the way down to your jaw, where she kisses a path down your neck. For a moment you let yourself get lost in the feeling of Brittany's lips leaving wet kisses all over your neck, all the way to your collarbones; it feels too good. But when you feel the hand she has wrapped your waist trying to get under your shirt, you put your hands on her shoulders and push her back.

"You... You should go, Brittany."

Brittany looks at you dejectedly. Perhaps it's the way you abruptly stopped it all. Maybe it was the way you used her full name, when you rarely do that anymore.

She still whispers a "Goodnight, San. See ya tomorrow." before getting out of the car. You usually watch her all the way to her porch step, to make sure she makes it inside her house safely, but tonight you can't even look up; you just wait for her to get inside before you turn on the engine and turn around to get back home.

Two weeks later, when it's Duets week in Glee Club (that you joined because of Quinn but ended up loving it) and you're making out in Brittany's bed, she suggests you sing Melissa Etheridge's "Come to my Window". You push her away and tell her you won't sing a love song with her because you're not in love with her. Later that day, just before you go to Glee club perform your duet with Mercedes, you see Brittany push Artie around. She looks back at you and without words, you know she's no longer yours to kiss.

It's a Thursday, and as you lay in bed, alone, you wonder if you had never given up ballet class if you wouldn't have to give up Brittany too. You're giving up things that are such a huge part of you and when you're faced with the consequences of your choices (watching Brittany walking away from you for the first time) you question yourself if it's all worth the heartache.

IV.

College is not what you expected. You thought that moving from Lima to Louisville would bring something new to your life; instead you're stuck with more daily practices and worthless cheerleading routines and even more heartache.

Feeling like you were stuck doing the same things, just a different town, was already bad enough. Having to let go of Brittany after finally having her was worse. You try to compare the pain you feel now to the one you felt when you finally gathered enough courage to admit your feelings to Brittany, only to realize you were too late.

Getting your second chance with Brittany back then seemed to be luck finally shining upon you, but now it feels like one of many cruel ways fate has to punish a person.

You were given a second chance to love, to do right by Brittany and be worthy of her; but you loved and you lost.

Staying in Louisville is your own punishment these days. Returning to Lima after what you've done, after letting go of _her_, was a mistake. You thought you could handle seeing her, being with her just as friends but you crumbled the moment she said, "I miss you."

You wanted to give everything up and get back to Lima, to her. Stay there and wait, wait until you could take her with you to New York and then finally get to start your life together.

Instead, you chose to stay in college. Your chances with Brittany were long gone; you weren't good enough for her. You never were. You hid your love from her and from everyone for years and when everything was finally good, you left her behind and you hurt her. You looked at someone else, you felt an _attraction_, while she was in Lima, hurting because of you. The guilt is so great that you never returned to the library since.

The only comfort you have these days comes from the routine: going to class, then cheerleading practice until 8pm, grab something quick to eat at the cafeteria, go to your dorm, study some and sleep for as long as you can. Rinse and repeat.

It keeps you numb to the ache.

One day you're leaving cheerleading practice when your phone rings. You barely get any calls these days that aren't from your Mami, asking how everything is going and making sure you're eating properly.

You used to get calls from Brittany. Just to "Hi, I missed your voice, San!". Or texts sent at 2am to let you know "_i will always love u the most (dont tell tubbs pls)_".

Now those are gone too. There's no more calls or texts but you keep every voicemail message and every text message so you can look at them late at night. You tell yourself you're learning from your mistakes but deep down you just miss her. You want her back.

To your surprise, your phone's screen says Girl Chang instead and you wonder what could she possibly want to talk with you. You were never that close and you haven't spoken to her since you went back to Lima for their production of Grease, and after that, you thought the girl hated your guts. You pick up the call anyway.

"One word: Bram. Gotta go hun!" And the line goes dead.

You stop in the middle of the crowd to stare dumbly at your phone. Passers-by roughly shove you out of their way while mumbling curse words under their breath but you barely pay attention; that was one of the weirdest phonecalls you had ever gotten and that includes that one time Brittany called you at 4am because she swore she spoke to Santa Claus.

You have no idea what she means with Bram. Is it a new superhero comic book? You know Girl Chang likes those nerdy things. Is it a new branch of Breadstix restaurants? A new kid at McKinley? But she knows you wouldn't care and the only reason why people from Lima ever call you these days is because of Brittany... _Brittany_.

Brittany _and Sam_.

It used to be a thing back when you were at McKinley; even Principal Figgins seemed to have picked up on the trend. Each couple would have a portmanteau of their names: you and Brittany were Brittana, Rachel and Finn were Finchel, Kurt and Blaine were Klaine... And now Bram.

You can't help but feel a little betrayed. Not by Brittany; you told her it'd be okay if you dated other people, even if you didn't really mean it. And now you knew it would never be okay to date other people. To move on.

The thought of being with someone else was revolting. The thought of _her_ with someone else was nothing short of agonizing.

Sam being that someone else only made it worse. Not only was it slightly weird that you have dated him before (and to top it off, you only dated him to avoid your feelings for Brittany) but after you two broke up, you stayed good friends, and you expected him to take care of Brittany for you; not sweep in and replace you.

You spend that night lying awake in bed. Before, you were in a state of denial. Even though you believed you weren't worthy of Brittany anymore, you still hoped that after college, maybe... Maybe you were meant to be. You refused to believe that a love as strong as yours, that had gone through so much already, could simply end like this. Then you stopped to think that you've been doing this since high school.

When Brittany wanted you to be proud of yourself, to be proud of your love for her, the same kind of hope took over you; you hoped that maybe after high school, you'd be able to be stronger and finally be able to be deserving of being with Brittany.

Two years later, and you're still relying on the same things. You're still hoping that something will change, something in the future, that something will bring Brittany back to you.

Instead of just sitting around waiting for a better future, you decide to fight for it. You decide to fight for Brittany; after all, she fought for you too.

It's a little over 2am. You can't call Brittany and you really should be asleep by now. However, you can't and if you stay in bed any longer you'll start getting pissed. You need to distract yourself. So you grab your laptop and your headphones. You plug them in while you wait for your computer to start.

You're halfway through Mumford and Sons' "Ghosts That We Knew" when you find yourself on Brittany's Facebook page. It wasn't even your intention to get there; to be honest, you've been avoiding every form of communication with Lima since you left running away from a teary-eyed Brittany that all she wanted was for you to stop running.

Her most recent update says "Brittany S. Pierce is now in a relationship with Sam Evans."

Even though you already knew, this confirmation, coming from Brittany herself, was like a slap to the face. In so many ways, you realized, things were different. And you were losing her like never before. You were losing her to distance, to fear, to someone else, like you never had before; she didn't even see you as a friend, someone she wanted to tell about her new relationship to.

Your vision blurs and you know that if you let go, you'll be crying yourself to sleep. You've been trying your best to avoid doing that since you've gotten to Louisville, because you wake up the next morning with an ache in your heart and a realization that you can't just call Brittany, and she'll be there to hold you in her arms and make you feel better.

The urge to just get under the covers in your bed and ignore the rest of the world is so overpowering but something else catches your attention just as you're about to close the tab. Right underneath the relationship status update, there's a picture of a group of people. They are all organized in three rows, the taller ones obviously in the back. At first, you're confused as to why this is on Brittany's wall, but then you spot her; wearing her blonde hair in a bun, with one of her big smiles. Her eyes though, tell you differently. You are able to see the sadness in Brittany's eyes, the way the skin around her eyes doesn't wrinkle with her smile, the way her blue irises don't shine underneath the artificial lights of what you come to realize now is the ballet studio back at Lima.

Underneath the picture, the caption reads, "_Another amazing year! We say goodbye to one of our own, but thank you for your dedication and love, Brittany! Class 2012/2013_".

It takes a while for everything to sink in. "_Brittany quit ballet class?_" you whisper to yourself.

That class meant everything to Brittany. For years, before Glee Club, before Santana, it was the only place Brittany felt like she was good at something. Sometimes, you'd have to stop in the middle of practicing your _dessus_ to stare at Brittany dancing. She performed the most difficult of choreographs with no effort. If there was a metaphor to Brittany's dance, it would be the way a flower blossoms, how her arms and legs flow naturally, as if accompanying the flow of a wind breeze that doesn't exist inside the studio, and yet she twists and turns, in a blur of yellow and black. Looking back now, you remember how you tightened your grip on the _barre_, how breathless she would leave you, how your heart would do somersaults every time she looked back and smiled at you.

It's both beautiful and tragic to realize you've been in love with this girl since you've been eight years old. And you've had her for most of your life, and you lost her, and then you had her again, only to let her go again. You might have taken her love for granted, but you're not willing to risk losing her again.

Brittany's life is changing without you (_Is she growing up or is she moving on?_ you wonder), and for once you're not there with her. For once you're the one left behind.

This time you're going to fight for her. You open a new tab on your browser and 10 minutes later, you have a plane ticket booked for the next day to Lima.

V.

"_Can you go pick her up then? I really don't think I'll be able to leave before 7._"

"Sure, babe. I'm already on my way."

"'_Kay. Thank you, San. I love you._"

"I love you too. Bye."

As soon as you end the call, you end up in a red light. Traffic today is insufferable, as if you weren't already stressed enough with work. You had an afternoon full of meetings, between aspiring writers who came to present you their visionary ideas for "the next Harry Potter" and delusional managers who think you'll publish what they call "the next bestseller" that you can only classify as trashy Twilight fanfiction; the names of the main characters were even similar — _Eduardo and Ella_, come on.

You glance quickly at the clock on the dashboard of your car and you see it's already 6:50pm, giving you 10 minutes to get there. You can probably make it if you go a little over the speed limit. Inside your head, you hear Brittany's voice telling you to "_stop being silly and be safe instead_" and you chuckle to yourself. You're still whipped as ever.

At twenty-nine years old, your Mami rarely called you on your stubbornness, even though you do get the occasional call asking why you don't call more often, but Brittany definitely does. Except with your mom, you'd pretend you didn't listen to it; with Brittany, you barely even question it before you change your mind.

The red light turns to green and you take a left turn into West 45th St. until you find the now familiar building that says Broadway Dance Center. You've been driving here for two years now, sometimes by yourself, sometimes accompanied by Brittany. It's a bit expensive but it's closer to both yours and Brittany's workplaces, so it allows you to be able to quickly get there.

You still remember that day when your mom ran late to pick you up at ballet class and how awful you felt; you don't want the same to happen to your own daughter.

If you think about it though, that small event changed your life forever. It gave you the chance to stay back at the studio and meet Brittany: your wife, the woman you've been in love with for almost two decades. The thought of how you and Brittany ended up makes you smile as you go inside the building.

Inside the dance center, things are not that much more different than they were in Lima. You greet the woman at the entrance, who recognizes you immediately, and lets you know Zoe's class is almost done. You got here just in time.

"If you go there now, you're still gonna be able to see the last few minutes of class," the kind woman informs with a smile.

You smile back at her and nod. Walking slowly down the long hallway, you're able to see all the different classes through the big glass windows in each room. There's adult contemporary dance, teenagers dancing hip-hop, and finally at the end of the hallway, little kids are having their ballet class.

You stop in front of the window, no more than eight inches away from it and your chest immediately fills with pride when you see Zoe, in her blue leotard (she insisted on a blue one, even when everyone else in class had a black one) with her black hair on top of her head in a tight bun. She's petite like you, but her presence takes up the whole room. She dances like her momma, and you get teary eyed at the thought.

Zoe is practicing her _jetés_, doing small jumps in the air, and she reminds you of a butterfly in the summer.

Finally, their teacher, Mrs. Roland, calls them over to her side, and they all sit down on the floor to listen to her. You watch as Zoe fidgets on her seat, barely able to stay quiet for long, especially if it's keeping her from dancing around.

At home, during dinner time, if you don't let her talk about her day at the table, she won't be able to stay quiet, so you and Brittany just let her ramble on and on about the ginger boy with freckles on his nose, and how funny freckles are, "They look like stars, Mami!"

You're thinking about the dinner after you took her to the zoo for the first time, and how messy that was, with Zoe messing up all of the animals' names, claiming the "'hipapotamus' has a giant neck, I swear!" when you feel a pair of arms circle around your waist.

"Hello, hottie."

Brittany's whisper makes you shiver but her words make you laugh and you turn around to see her smiling at you playfully. You give her a quick peck on the lips before you turn around again to point at Zoe sitting on the floor inside the classroom.

"Your daughter has definitely inherited your genes. She can't stay put for long."

Brittany only laughs as a reply. She moves to wrap her arms around your waist again and she kisses your neck before she leans her chin on your shoulder. "Well, at least she didn't inherit your lazy bum genes."

"Ha ha. See if this lazy bum cooks dinner for you tonight."

Before Brittany gets to say anything more, your playful bickering is stopped but a flood of kids, who run down the hallway, undoubtedly towards their parents who are waiting for them at the reception. Zoe's busy talking to another girl to notice you two, but the girl nudges her side and points at you and Brittany, and Zoe finally looks up.

"Mami! Momma!" she exclaims, sprinting towards you. You open up your arms and she crashes softly against your stomach. Wrapping your arms around her, you lean down to kiss her on top of her head.

Zoe lets go of you to move over to her momma, who picks her up and spins her around, kissing her all over her face, "It's the kissing monster!" before she puts a giggling Zoe down again.

"Okay guys, what do you say we make some homemade pizza today?" you ask them, both Brittany and Zoe lighting up like you had just told them it's Christmas again.

"Yes, yes, yes! Please Mami, can I help with the dough?"

You can't help but laugh at Zoe's enthusiasm. "Yes, of course, mi amor," you tell her, offering her your hand to take before you wrap your other arm around Brittany.

"What do you say? Let's get our hands dirty tonight?" you lean over to whisper in Brittany's ear, before pulling back and wiggling your eyebrows. Being with Brittany has turned you into a dork; or maybe you already were, but Brittany makes you brave enough to be who you are and not who you think you should be.

Brittany just laughs, "I hope you mean that in more than one way."

You smirk at her and then turn around to wink playfully at your daughter, who's clueless about whatever you and her momma are talking about. She giggles, feeling part of the joke now, even though she's so obviously not. Your heart grows tenfold at the beauty of her innocence and even though you know she's growing up, she'll always be your baby girl.

"Momma, can we watch the tape of your ballet recital again after? The one with Mami on it too?"

"Of course, princess. After dinner," Brittany replies.

You don't say anything. You just smile to yourself before leading your family down the hallway of the dance academy. You can already hear the piano playing the songs for the next class, and you think of your times back in Lima, when you used to dance ballet with Brittany.

You still dance with her sometimes. Not ballet, not anymore. You and Brittany haven't danced ballet since you were teenagers, but sometimes you dance in the silence of your room, just to feel close to each other, doing something you both love.

When Zoe asked you to sign up for ballet class, after watching the tapes to yours and Brittany's dance recitals on repeat almost every day, you wanted to make sure she wasn't doing it just because you and Brittany had danced before too.

Once you had seen Zoe dance for the first time, you understood how special your family was. Ballet had been a big part of your life, growing up. It had been almost a metaphor to your struggles as you found love with Brittany. And now, to have your daughter have something she loves as much in her life makes you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.


End file.
